Elementary, My Dear Watkins (31 page)

“He’ll talk to
me
,” Jo cried, but Eleanor said that Bradford and his parents had specifically requested no visitors, especially not Jo Tulip.

Jo couldn’t understand why he had done that, but it sounded for some reason as though he was trying to weasel out of the situation entirely. She could only wonder what he might do next—perhaps deny ever saying any of those things to her in the first place?

Jo had been in a good mood when she first sat down, but the wind quickly sputtered from her sails after that. The looming presence of her bodyguard only served to remind her of the gravity of it all.

Down at the end of the table, Winnie was sullen and morose. Apparently, Eleanor had talked to her yesterday while Jo was in Pennsylvania and told her everything that was going on. Now, the woman who had been so bubbly about her gardening the day before had not said two words since sitting down.

Eleanor looked as though she was worn out. With a listless appetite and dark circles under her eyes, Jo knew that the situation was taking a serious toll on the woman. Jo could only pray that it would be resolved soon. At 86, her grandmother didn’t have the stamina to get through something like this unscathed.

Alexa hadn’t made it to breakfast at all. According to Eleanor, she had come down earlier and complained of a sore throat and a headache, so they had canceled her tutor for the day and she had gone back to bed to sleep.

Only Consuela seemed to be in a good mood, singing to herself as she carried in a platter of homemade waffles and set it down next to the heated syrup.

“For goodness’ sake, Consuela, this is breakfast, not Carnegie Hall. Please be quiet.”

Jo looked up at her grandmother, surprised at the outburst.

“I think Consuela’s just in a good mood,” Jo said, trying to smooth things over.

“Yes. It’s watching your dog out the window that’s making me happy,” Consuela concurred. “So sweet and funny. He reminds me of my little Koko, best pet I ever had.”

She babbled on a bit about her childhood dog, obviously not realizing that no one except Jo was interested. Once she left the room, Eleanor let out a sigh and then went back to picking at her food.

Jo thought it might be as good a time as any to mention her need for a little office space to do her work and ask if any of the outbuildings could accommodate her. Her grandmother said that she should feel free to use either an empty office in the carriage house or a table in the studio.

“There’s a sink in the studio, isn’t there?” Jo asked. “I’ll work in there. I’m going to concentrate on some household hint questions today.”

She didn’t add that the questions would all revolve around toaster ovens to give her more fodder for drawing out Toaster Man and encouraging him to write back. Perhaps if Jo was able to sneak enough details out of him, she could track down the case that way. Given the confines of her situation, she figured that was better than nothing.

“Oh, please,” Winnie interrupted suddenly, her voice harsh. “Household hints? There are more important things going on here than that. I think you both should know that my son, Ian, called me in the middle of the night. He said that he had a visit from the police, asking him questions about what happened.”

Jo turned to her grandmother, one eyebrow raised, wondering how the cops knew to question Ian.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Eleanor snapped. “Yes, I’m the one who gave his name to the police. They have received my full cooperation. I will not tolerate this sort of behavior in my home, my family, or my company. Lying, double-dealing, contract killing—whatever. I won’t have it.”

“Mother, do you honestly think my son—your own grandson—could be a murderer?” Winnie demanded.

“Actually, no, I don’t. But he is the most likely suspect, and we had to start somewhere. For what it’s worth, the police will probably question you and Neil too.”

“Perfect,” Winnie snapped. “Turned in by my own mother. Will you look the other way as they beat me with a rubber hose?”

“Uh, the cops don’t really do that,” Jo said, fighting the urge to smile.

“Do you want me to move out of here and back to Manhattan, Mother? Go as far away from Jo as possible, just in case I might be trying to kill her myself?”

“It’s an investigation, Winnie,” Eleanor explained tiredly. “The police have to go through a systematic process of eliminating suspects. You and your husband and son would each benefit quite handsomely from Jo’s death. They simply need to rule you out so they can move on to the real murderer.”

Jo put down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin, wishing this entire mess could simply go away. She knew she could be wrong, of course, but she’d almost be willing to stake her life on the fact that the killer was not Winnie or Neil or Ian.

“Winnie,” Jo said, “according to my father, there are plenty of people in the company who would stand to gain by my death. The police will be talking to all of them eventually, I’m sure. Don’t take it personally.”

“Don’t take it personally?”

Winnie threw her napkin onto the table, slammed her hands down, and stood up so quickly that the bodyguard sprang into action, poised to take her down if necessary.

“My nerves can’t take this,” Winnie said, near tears, her hands shaking. Jo was sad to realize that the carefree, happy Winnie she’d glimpsed yesterday was now completely gone. “It’s not fair!”

“It may not seem fair right now, but—”

“I wait all year for planting season,” Winnie interrupted. “
All year
. And you people are just
ruining
it for me.”

With that, she ran from the room in tears. They could hear the back door slam and then Chewie barking and then another door slam in the distance. Jo looked at her grandmother, her eyes wide.

“Well,” Eleanor said precisely, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, “what were we thinking? How very thoughtless of us to have placed a greater value on human life than we have on planting season.”

Danny decided that he was going to catch the next possible flight home. Above all else, he needed to be with Jo. He didn’t intend to quit his job with
Scene It
or close out his Paris apartment or anything like that. He simply had to find out what was going on and make sure she was okay. He’d deal with whatever ramifications came from his actions later.

Though Mr. Bashiri seemed disappointed that Luc would be the one going with him to the Congo rather than Danny, he was gracious about it. All Danny told him was that he had a personal matter back in the States that needed attending to, and that since it didn’t look like his visa for the Congo was going to come through in time anyway, he was going to bow out from this trip now and fly home as soon as possible.

“There will be other photo shoots, other trips,” Mr. Bashiri said to Danny, nodding his head. “I feel certain that this is not the last time you and I will work together. And Luc, with his language skills, will be an asset of a different kind, of course.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding.”

Danny got the number of a local travel agent from the receptionist and then made the call from a telephone in the warehouse. She told him that his only choice for today was a flight leaving from the Zurich airport at 1:45
PM
, with one seat left in business class, if Danny wanted it. According to the travel agent, he would have to change planes in Amsterdam and then fly straight to the JFK Airport in New York, arriving at 8:32 tonight, local time. The next available flight wasn’t until Saturday afternoon.

“I’ll take the one forty-five today,” he said, not even wanting to hear the price. He was willing to pay whatever he had to. He’d just have to figure out some way to cover the cost on his credit card later. “And rent a car for me in New York too, would you? The cheapest thing you can find.”

Giving her his credit card number over the phone, Danny looked across the room at Luc, who was trying to pack up all of the extra equipment. The Frenchman was already looking overwhelmed with having to assist Mr. Bashiri by himself, not to mention rather green around the gills after all of those shots on top of a nasty hangover. Finally, the reservation complete, Danny called for a taxi, and then he crossed the busy room to say his goodbyes.

“Listen, before you go,” Luc said under his breath, “would you please tell me why this is the tripod Mr. Bashiri keeps insisting we need to bring to Africa rather than any of the others? The others have so many more features, and they’re all so much lighter than this one.”

Danny thought for a moment and then reached out for the tripod in question, flipped it upside down, and showed Luc the bottoms of its feet.

“My guess is because this one has solid legs,” Danny said. “All of the others are hollow.”

“So? That is what makes them so light!”

“Yeah,” Danny replied, putting it back down. “But in the conditions you’ll encounter in the Congo, that’s also what makes them fill up with dirt or mud every time you use them.”

Luc slapped a flat hand against his forehead, as though he couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured that out on his own. Danny knew his friend had a lot to learn about the practicalities of in-the-field photography, but he had a feeling that spending this time with Mr. Bashiri, the consummate professional, would have a great influence on him.

Suddenly, Danny felt a pang of reluctance over what he was about to do. He had paid way more than he could afford to hop on a plane and fly to America without so much as a single conversation with anyone there, all based on secondhand information, leaving behind the best job he’d ever had and the professional opportunity of a lifetime.

It made no sense.

But what did make sense was the feeling that had been growing in his gut ever since Luc said the name of Helen Tulip. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit’s leading, but somehow Danny simply
knew
that he needed to be home with Jo, even if he didn’t understand why.

Danny’s final words with his traveling companions were bittersweet. He thanked Luc for coming to him and telling him the truth.

“Listen, man, about the money…” Danny said, a sly smile on his lips.

“The hundred thousand that I have to give back?”

“Yeah. Helen was paying you to get me fired, so that I would go home to America, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, the way I see it, I’m on my way home. The finer details aside, it sounds to me like that’s money you earned. I’d plan on keeping it, if I were you.”

Luc seemed to think about it for a moment as his own smile grew.

“Oui!”
he said finally, giving Danny a strong hug. “I do believe you have a good point,
mon ami
. She achieved her end goal, which was to get you home. Ultimately, that’s what she was paying for.”

Luc seemed very happy as he returned to his work. Danny stepped toward Mr. Bashiri. This goodbye would be much more difficult, as Danny didn’t expect to see him again any time soon. He was so grateful for the man’s patience and instruction and gentle nature. If he could, Danny would like to be just like Mr. Bashiri throughout every level of his career.

He was flattered when the photographer offered to walk him out front to wait for the taxi. As they went, Danny tried to think of a way that, again, he could apologize for simply taking off like this. But when he tried to put it into words, it just came out sounding stupid. He babbled something about his girlfriend needing him, but that she was much more than just a girlfriend, she was also his best friend and more than likely soon-to-be fiancée.

“Let me tell you a little story,” Mr. Bashiri said, interrupting him. “One I do not share often.”

Danny nodded, listening, glad to see as they stepped outside that the taxi had not yet arrived.

“Many years ago, when my four children were small, I spent much time away from them, working hard to succeed in my field. My wife was a very capable woman, so I knew they were in good hands. Through my work, at least I was able to provide for them well. Eventually, I even bought for us a beautiful home on a beautiful hill, but I was gone so much it was almost like I did not live there at all.”

“You were working hard,” Danny said. “Earning a living.”

Mr. Bashiri shook his head.

“In my country, a man does not just provide for his family, he also defends his family. This I did not do. I was not there to do that.”

At the corner, Danny could see a taxicab waiting at a red light, heading in their direction, and he willed the light to stay red just a little longer.

Mr. Bashiri continued, his eyes very sad and faraway.

“Rebel forces came through our village one day, with the goal of eliminating anyone with ties to the government or with obvious signs of prosperity. Because of our beautiful home on a beautiful hill, my entire family was murdered.”

Danny looked away, a sudden heat threatening at the back of his eyes.

“I was deep in the jungle at the time, on an extended shoot. No one could reach me for two weeks. By the time I came home, my family had already been buried. I was not there to spend time with them, I was not there to protect them, and I was not there to bury them. I was only there to mourn them.”